


Somehow

by Celandine



Category: King's Speech (2010)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Infidelity, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-25
Updated: 2011-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-15 22:47:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celandine/pseuds/Celandine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bertie realizes he has to confront his feelings toward Lionel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somehow

Bertie could ignore them no longer. Sooner or later – sooner, to be honest – he would have to confront his feelings and find a way to live with them.

It was not that he _wanted_ to, particularly, but they were becoming more difficult to conceal. If Lionel hadn't yet noticed the physical reactions Bertie experienced, it was only by great good luck, and that couldn't last, not when they occurred more and more often. Bertie was no seventeen year old for whom erections at inconvenient moments were only to be expected; he was a middle aged, married man, a king, and this problem had to be resolved. Somehow.

Perhaps if he had ever before been in love with anyone but Elizabeth, it would be easier. He had had intimate relations with others, to be sure. There had been a few fumblings with other naval cadets; Paulette in Paris, his first prostitute; and other such encounters; but all of those had been merely physical in nature, without any engaging of the emotions. Since he had first begun wooing Elizabeth, however, he had been faithful to her in both body and mind.

Until now, that was.

Patients _did_ fall in love with their doctors. Bertie was well aware of that. Gratitude could very easily be mistaken for something more personal, on both sides. He had considered the possibility that it was so in his own case, but he thought not. He didn't know if Lionel felt anything like the same for him, that was the problem. Friendship, yes, Bertie had no doubt that Lionel thought of him as a friend, but was there anything more? Did he dare to ask, and risk Lionel giving him an untrue answer, because Bertie was his king?

Bertie shook his head. No. Lionel had never lied to him. Omitted to say something perhaps, now and again, but never lied. It was an injustice to suspect that he would.

All of this filled his head day after day, even as he went about his royal duties, saw Lionel for therapy, practiced his vocal exercises, spent time with his family.

Worrying at it preoccupied him so much that he almost missed hearing Lionel ask one day, "What's troubling you, Bertie? Your radio broadcast last week went well; there was just the one sentence in the middle that gave you trouble, and we'll keep working on those Ws."

He was standing behind Bertie, one hand on the small of Bertie's back, the other guiding Bertie's hand to touch his throat. He had been directing him to feel for the differences in tension as he spoke different sounds. Lionel's breath was warm against his neck, but Bertie shivered.

"N-n-n-nothing." Bertie flushed. The stammer gave him away.

Lionel let go of Bertie's hand and took his shoulder to turn him so that they were face to face. "Don't give me that; I _know_ you, Bertie, and I know better. If it's something to do with the war, of course I can't help, but it might help you just to talk whatever it is over with someone, and I'm here to listen."

Bertie shook his head, this reply coming more easily. "N-not the w-war."

He desperately wanted a cigarette. Lionel claimed they were bad for his voice box and lungs, but Bertie agreed with his physicians that they were calming. Nevertheless he had acquiesced to Lionel's insistence that he not smoke in the consulting room. Today he wished he had not agreed to that. He could almost taste the smoke, feel it soothing him.

Bertie grimaced. This was one of those moments when he particularly despised being king, although being Duke of York still would have been little better. Only to have been born into a different family altogether would have helped. He _had_ to be the one who began this conversation; a subject would never dare, not even Lionel for all his informality. Best, perhaps to simply say it. Lionel might not be a proper doctor with a degree, but surely he had had patients before whose feelings for him were warmer than was suitable. He would not judge Bertie badly for it, surely?

Fortified by that thought, Bertie managed to speak almost without a hitch.

"I think I'm falling in love w-with you."

A peculiar stillness settled on Lionel, his usually mobile face looking almost grotesque for a moment before he spoke in careful words. "What makes you think that, Bertie?"

Bertie went to sit down. Automatically he reached for his cigarette case, but touching the cool metal reminded him of his promise not to smoke. He clenched his fist instead and rested it on his knee as he answered.

"I find myself reacting – physically – to you more and more often. I think about you all the time. The hours I spend with you are the happiest of my week, despite the hard work you put me to."

The words spilled from his mouth.

"I'm grateful for everything you've done for me, but this is more than gratitude. At least I _think_ it is. I –" Bertie paused to swallow, took a deep breath, and went on with what was hardest to say. "I dream of m-making love with you."

Slowly Lionel sank down into his own chair, his eyes never leaving Bertie's. "I presume you have not spoken of this to your wife."

A gulp of laughter that was closer to a sob forced its way from Bertie's throat. "Don't be ridiculous. Elizabeth would never understand. She would think it meant I didn't love her anymore, but that is untrue. I _do_ love her – and yet I love you also. I don't understand it myself." It was not as hard as he feared to talk of the matter; Lionel had been right, just to say it helped .

Lionel stroked his hand over his face. "You know your wife and I don't, of course, but she might surprise you."

"And you? Are you surprised?" Bertie couldn't help asking.

"No." Lionel shook his head. "I – no. I can't say I'm surprised. Flattered in the extreme, mind you, but..."

"But?" prompted Bertie.

"But professionally, _ethically_ , I can hardly encourage such feelings on your part... or mine," Lionel ended in a near-whisper.

Bertie caught his breath. "Does that mean – you have similar feelings?"

Lionel nodded. "I never meant to tell you."

"Why not? Just for ethical reasons?"

"Isn't that enough?"

"I thought you might have been concerned that I would react badly to the notion."

"Well, that too," admitted Lionel.

As ever, Lionel was telling the truth; not all of it immediately perhaps, but when Bertie pushed him, he was honest. It comforted Bertie to know that.

"So what do we do now?" asked Bertie.

Rubbing his nose, Lionel said, "I don't know. I've never been in quite this situation. Usually the therapist has a certain authority over his patients, but..."

Bertie patted the sofa. "Come here."

A little jerkily, Lionel did. It was odd to have him there – they had never sat next to each other before, not like this, despite Lionel's insistence on informality and the intimacy that came from working together on Bertie's stammer for so long. Bertie reached out to take Lionel's hand. It was warm, or perhaps it was just that his own was cold. He twisted sideways and pressed his lips to Lionel's. They opened under his mouth, Lionel's tongue emerging to prod at his own. Bertie shivered as the heat built between them, sliding down his spine and settling in his groin.

It was Lionel who broke the kiss. He moved back a few inches and shook his head.

"No, Bertie, no."

"But why not?" Bertie hated the pleading note in his voice, when he was as certain as he had ever been of anything that Lionel wanted this, as much as he did himself.

Lionel cut across him. "Not here. Not now. This is my consulting room; the door isn't even locked."

"So lock it," said Bertie.

"I can't, not during business hours. You know that."

"Why not? Your boys are in school, your wife is at home, and you could pin up a note on the door to say 'Back at 1.00' or whenever your next patient is due, couldn't you?" argued Bertie. Lionel hesitated, but Bertie could tell how much he wanted to agree.

"Just this once," Bertie added, and that stipulation seemed to persuade Lionel.

Quickly he scrawled a note on a piece of paper and found a pin to tack it up. He locked the door, testing it to make sure the latch had caught, and came back to where Bertie waited.

They had less than half an hour by then before Bertie's session was scheduled to end, but they made the most of it. Lionel would not let them undress, saying that they shouldn't waste the time.

His mouth was warm, giving and demanding in equal measure. Over the years Elizabeth had learned to be less passive than she had been when they were first married, but Lionel took charge from nearly the beginning, once he realized that was what Bertie hoped for. Bertie scarcely heard his own groans as he pulled Lionel closer, pressing his aching cock against Lionel's thigh and feeling Lionel's hard against him in return.

He reached to touch Lionel there, hot, throbbing against his fingers even through the fabric. Lionel quivered and fumbled for a handkerchief which he stuffed down his trousers. _Sensible of him_ , Bertie thought, continuing to stroke until Lionel threw his head back with a choked cry. Bertie's cock pulsed in sympathy, but he waited patiently until Lionel had recovered himself a little. Lionel gave him a swift kiss and produced a second handkerchief, passing it to Bertie who imitated what Lionel had done, pushing it into his trousers to envelop the head of his cock so that he would leave no telltale wet stain.

The relative roughness of cotton instead of skin magnified Lionel's touches. It took very little time before Bertie spilled, his cock erupting in an ecstasy as great as any he had ever experienced.

He sighed when it was over, smiling at Lionel to show him that it was a sigh of pleasure, not sadness, and drew him in for a lingering kiss.

"I'll bring your handkerchief back to you tomorrow," he said.

"Oh, no. I'll take care of it," said Lionel. "Myrtle marks them with my initials; you wouldn't want anyone wondering."

He was right, of course. Awkwardly Bertie fished the handkerchief out, sticky now and wadded in wrinkles. He passed it to Lionel, feeling slightly shocked when Lionel raised it to his nose and sniffed.

"Essence of Bertie. Perhaps I won't wash it after all?" He smiled at the look of horror on Bertie's face. "I'm joking, I assure you. If nothing else Myrtle would ask where I'd lost it."

Bertie smiled back uncertainly. Lionel's sense of humor sometimes baffled him.

"Your car will be waiting." Lionel was brisk and professional again, standing up.

Bertie rose also. "Tomorrow..."

"Never here again." Lionel shook his head. "It's too dangerous, for you more than for me."

"I know." Bertie might be king, but the law applied to him as much as to any man, perhaps more so. The risk was too great. "I'll think of something, of somewhere," he promised.

As the door closed behind him, he squared his shoulders. He _would_ find a way for them to be together again. Somehow, it would happen.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to try for a follow-up to the various UST-type drabbles I'd written for this pairing, and this was the result.


End file.
